Max Payne: V
by earthbender139
Summary: Max Payne fights the remainders of Lupino's gang while dealing with, and trying to get rid of, the lasting effects of the drug, Valkyr. Rating just in case. Story takes place after Max Payne One and before Max Payne Two.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own the plot. 'Nough said.****  
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**CHAPTER: ONE**

****I woke in a cold sweat. It felt as if I had woken from one nightmare into the next. My head was pounding from the night before. I walked to the bathroom, stumbling over every article of clothing that lay on the floor. I made my way to sink and turned the faucet on. The sound of water falling onto the smooth, white porcelain soothed the throbbing. I looked into the mirror and saw a broken man. Black, shaggy hair, 5 o'clock shadow at 3 in the morning, bloodshot eyes and the physical structure of a high-school jock who doesn't try too hard to impress the cheerleaders. I opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the knock-off Tylenol brand off the shelf. I popped a handful of pills into my mouth and drank from the tap. It would take a while before the pills took affect so I turned the television on and flipped to the news. What I saw reminded me of a past life. Fire engulfed a tall, sleazy hotel like a blanket of red death. Mobs of rioters were taking out any unlucky police officer who got in their way. I could never understand why people where so ignorantly violent when they wanted something done.****

**"**We're above the city of New York, where civilians are protesting the inclusion of the mafia into the government. Earlier this month, family members of the late Jack Lupino have somehow gotten into office. Whether they worked hard for their chairs, or forced their way in, we may never know"****

Just as I started to lay my head on the sweet bliss that is my pillow, I heard a knock at my apartment door. "We know you're here you son-of-a-bitch!" the next sound I heard was a bullet going through the keyhole. I jumped, grabbed my black leather coat, grabbed my two Barretas, and leaped for the fourth story apartment window just as Lupino's goons rushed the room, guns blazing.****

Then the world around me slowed, I could see everything: the bullets, the angered, cursing faces of the mafia members who wanted to take my life from this god-forsaken planet, and the bullets whizzing passed my body. Bad aim as usual. I pulled the trigger and the pointed, cylindrical metal harbingers of death flew out the barrel of the gun. With a blurry trail of air and sound, it made it's mark between one of the killer's ribs, piercing the skin and traveling right through his beating heart, and finally out the other side of his body. Squeezing the trigger on the other gun, the next mafioso fell with the same swift brutality as the last.****

Time flowed back to its normal pace as I realized an important, bleak fact of life. It doesn't matter how hard you work to forget the past, how far you try to run, those ghosts of the past will continue to haunt you. Haunt you until your body finally gives up and you find yourself lying on the concrete, intoxicated and broken, drowning in your own blood and vomit that just further remind you of how crap-filled your life was, and you let go of what is left of your pathetic existence. Only then will those ghost leave you alone. The next thing I felt was my body making contact with the cold, snow covered street of New York City.****

I stayed partly buried under the foot of snow for a good minute until I finally shook my head and started to lift my aching body. I told myself I had something to do, i couldn't just lie there and die, and started for the nearest pay phone. I placed the guns in the inside pockets of my leather jacket and hoped not to run into any more of Lupino's lackeys. As soon as the coast was clear, I started for the phone. I put in my spare change and dialed the number I was told to call if I ever needed anything. The man on the other side of the line had a thick Russian accent. "This is Vlad. Who is this? What do you want?"****

I looked over my shoulder for good measure, partly out of paranoia, and spoke into the phone with my deep, gruff, vigilante cop-gone-rogue voice, "I need your help with something, Vlad. It's Max Payne."**  
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**Authors Note: Well there goes the first chapter to my story. This is my first story, just to clarify. Sorry for such a short story to begin with, I promise to write more in the future! Thank you all for the time you have spent reading, and don't forget to take an extra minute to review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own the plot. 'Nough said.******

**CHAPTER TWO******

I walked through the all-too familiar boathouse Vlad instructed me to venture into. Memories of high-speed gun fights and the smell of walls painted with blood clouded my mind. I walked to the main office building, passing freights and moveable lifts that made me look twice to see if they would come after me like a bull after a red cape. When I reached the office I noticed the door slightly ajar. I walked in and almost immediately my heart sank. The telltale signs of death were written on the walls and on the scarce furniture in the small office. I walked around, investigating the knocked over chairs and file cabinets. Manila folders and important looking documents littered the floor. The ones responsible for this mess were looking for something, and they would kill anyone that got in their way. I saw the leg protruding from underneath the fallen computer desk. "Vlad!" I leaped toward the limp body to find a sharply dressed man. He was a big guy, the type that would intimidate you without even trying. Even under the dress shirt and suit, you could see the toned muscles. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a couple of Maori tattoos. This man was far from being the mafioso Vladimir Lem. Vlad was strong, not muscular, but strong. He was what you would expect from a Russian mob boss that sold weapons on the black market.****

There was no evidence that pointed toward whether Vlad had escaped his assailants, but I knew my friend did. I looked at a broken window. Tiny beads of light were visible on the outside floor, indicating that during all the action, Vlad must have escaped through the window like I had earlier from the apartment building. I barely started walking toward the window when I heard a suspicious beeping noise coming from the dead bodyguard. I noticed red numbers counting down from ten on his chest. "Shit!" I practically screamed as I bolted for the window. I jumped out. I saw a lifted delivery truck and dove under. The bomb went off, sending chunks of the wall behind me into the make-shift bomb shelter. Almost immediately, fire from the initial explosion spewed from inside the office and died before it could reach the exposed underbelly of the truck. I mouthed the words, "Thank you Ford."****

Whoever planted the bomb in the room must have believed Vlad would come back to either mourn the loss of a faithful friend and worker who died for his sins, or to grab something of importance. While these assumptions may hold true for most people, I knew Vlad was smarter than them. He would never go back to where he was initially attacked, even under such harsh circumstances. Then I saw three pairs of dress shoes and slacks.****

"You think he came back?" It was an annoyingly squeaky voice. It came from the skinnier looking of the three.****

"No, I don't think so. Hey, check out the room." Big and burly voice, just like his figure. ****

"Man! I hate being the one who does all the work! Why can't he do it?" The squeaky voice squealed even louder and more annoying than before. Then his body jerked suddenly. Must have gotten smacked in the back of the head.****

The next voice had a thick Jersey accent. "'Cuz I own you guys for the night. Lupino told me to make sure you idiots don't screw nothin' up."****

With that, the skinny one walked into the room. He must have been shaking his head to signal Vlad's body was nowhere to be seen because Jersey Boy Started cursing.****

"We gotta head back to the boss man. Tell him what happened and plan our next move. Let's hope he ain't in a bad mood. Let's move!"****

The trio walked toward the truck above me. It's a good thing the explosion melted the snow and my footprints. My night would have ended right there. I creeped further into the shadows and made sure when they started driving, I wouldn't be under a wheel.****

They drove off and I saw the ad on the back of the truck:****

"GREAT PRICES, GREAT FOOD, GREAT GAMES, AND A GREAT BAR. COME TO THE MIDGARD HOTEL! DON'T FORGET TO ASK FOR A HAPPY ENDING, MEN!"****

As much as I wanted to follow my one lead as to what's been going on in the New York government, I knew I had to find my friend first. Then it hit me. It was as if my body had been struck by a cannon ball traveling at terminal velocity. My head pounded and the shipyard started growing as tall as skyscrapers, clawing at the black, smog-filled sky. I looked at my hands and they had become black and aged, with veins so visible it was as if they could rip out of my frail skin at any moment, yet there was no pain.****

Pain or no pain, I had to look away from my disgusting hands. I looked forward to see that the alley before me had transformed into a dark, red hallway. Blood was splattered on both sides of the corridor. Soot fell from the ceiling as if it were on fire. I looked behind me and the boathouse was gone, replaced by a wall with a single mirror.****

I stood and squinted my eyes toward the mirror. I saw myself, perfectly fine. I looked back at my dying skin. This couldn't be happening. I looked back at the mirror and stepped back in terror. I was grinning like I had gone mad. One of my eyes looked up into it's eyelid like when a man dies of a heart attack. The other eye was gone, only a dark void stayed, and there was a crimson trail coming from the hole as if I had been crying blood. What I saw next startled me the most. A red hand held my reflection's shoulder. My eyes followed the hand's arm to a red face that resembled a mask of an opera singer that played the devil in Dante's Inferno: a red, elongated face with fangs that are stained red from the human blood it must consume to stay alive, and two pointed horns that grew out of the beast's forehead. It smiled like my reflection was, but looked more sinister.****

I raised my arm to touch the mirror. It shattered on contact with my charcoal skin. I heard a blood curdling scream that came from the seemingly endless hallway. I instantly knew whose mouth that terrible sound escaped from. I started running into the dimly lit hallway. I cried my wife's name with same sense of urgency and fear as I did four years ago, the night the pain started.****

"MICHELLE!"


End file.
